


when reality sets back in

by chasingpatterns



Series: #post your drafts 2017 [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: M/M, au where the writers were like 'you know what we need. romantic criminals.', mentions of: binge eating and depression and repression, stop -- drabble time (bum ba da da)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 12:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12531088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingpatterns/pseuds/chasingpatterns
Summary: Mick never hopes. He just knows.--The one where it's never what you want.





	when reality sets back in

**Author's Note:**

> it's a DRABBLE
> 
> remember when that used to mean like, 100 words

“I’m not your Len.” At least he has the decency to look shocked about it, that same crinkly-eyed look Snart used to get when he was processing something bad. Mick, on the other hand, knew this from the start. He nods and starts stepping away. 

“Where are you going?” He keeps walking. “Mick. _Mick_!” 

There are other voices too, of course. The team calling his name and a pair of boot heels that follow him. He knows it’s Amaya without having to look. He shakes his head and he can picture the dilemma on her face that he never ends up seeing, just disappears further into the ship. 

Gideon is the last of them to say anything, but he asks (yells, snarls, bellows when he should be screaming at —) her to leave him be. And then it’s quiet. The doors don’t let Snart, or whoever that is out there, in because he never allowed himself to hope like that. It’s talking to the stars in the sky and the moon overhead. 

Mick’s got a lot of thoughts, contrary to popular belief. They swirl around in him and sometimes seem to come at him through a distant haze, but they're thoughts. Ideas. Concepts. Memories. Thing is, with the lives he’s lived and the things he’s seen, sometimes it’s best to stay quiet. Everyone’s got that core in them, the thing that makes them real and true to themselves, but the cover he’s built up is a much stronger thing to fall back on. That’s what he’d called on when he broke through Chronos, and that’s what he was donning when the new Snart came. The only one who knew better was Len. 

He’s never getting that Len back.

He stays in his room until everything is silent. Everyone might not be asleep, but they aren’t out. Mick takes to the kitchens with a vengeance, with some half-formed delusion that if he fills up his gut it’ll take up any space for any sort of feeling that wants to bubble up. All he needs it to do is buy him some time until he can more efficiently wedge this one more source of torment into another shadowy place in his mind, to be repressed and repressed and repressed and repressed —

He’s cramming fabricated cheez-its down his throat when he hears a soft voice from behind him. Mick doesn’t jump.

“Does it really matter? You’re thinking with your stomach... just like I know you.”

The pause, Mick thinks, is greatly unnecessary. He snorts. His voice shouldn’t have been described as soft; quiet, maybe. Evaluative. Curious. Maybe hurt, but Mick’s not paying attention to that. He wants to pretend like it’s a heist he’s running. So does this Snart.

“You don’t know me, I don’t know you.” He doesn’t pause as he uses gloved hands to practically pour them into his mouth. The way he’s chewing is pretty obscene. “Dunno what that other me did, but I don’t want a whole production.” There are so many evaluating pauses between everything they’re saying and the sigh that Snart lets out might as well be nails on a chalkboard in this silence by the way it rubs every one of Mick’s senses the wrong way.

“This is a team, or so I hear. We’ll have to work together. Is this going to be a problem?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Mick swallows, smacking his lips to clear whatever traces of his snack is left. Len, the other one, isn’t looking at him. His eyes are averted and his hands are carded in front of his face. Mick suddenly remembers someone telling him you can’t help but read words on a page and he can’t help but read into the Snart sitting across from him.

“Folded faster than I thought you would.”

The stare is steely and hard and directed at Mick full force. Mick adjusts his gloves and doesn’t miss the way crumbs cascade to the floor under him while Snart’s boring holes with his eyes. Indignant, he fabricates a beer and he leaves. He’s not his Len.

In his room is a small, dumb ring that doesn’t fit on any of his fingers waiting for him.

**Author's Note:**

> 80% of this was written in december 2016, aka when the initial news they were bringing back len was out. you know, legion len? anyways they're back at it, i'm tired of staring at this thing in my drive, and i'm not gonna proofread, a-whoops.
> 
> snartbait ya selves 2k17
> 
> (but seriously i'm done i also stopped caring in 2016)


End file.
